


Benches

by quartermile



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Drabble, M/M, Meditation, Sketching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-02
Updated: 2015-09-02
Packaged: 2018-04-18 14:16:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4709027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quartermile/pseuds/quartermile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Bucky meditates, Steve sketches and is a bit of a creep (not really).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Benches

Steve isn’t quite ready for lunch yet when his class lets out at noon so he opts to amble around campus instead of heading straight for the cafeteria.

He carries his camera along with him to capture things he wants to draw later. He takes pictures of a random flower here, water droplets still lingering on a leaf there, the way the sun reflects off of these pieces of grass or that bee hovering above a flower with pollen sticking to his tiny hairs. 

He’s got his sketchbook so he decides to find a spot to sit and sketch a little. He needs to work on his project – a semester project of one hundred still life sketches – and it’s a beautiful day out. Fresh air helps him think.

He heads for his favorite spot, a little trail that leads through the trees to the schools hidden tennis court, two benches lining each side of the trail perched under a big willow tree. It’s a beautiful spot, close enough to the bustle so you don’t feel alone and keeping it from being too dangerous, but secluded enough that it’s a wonderful place to catch your breath away from everyone.

And apparently a great place to meditate.

There’s a guy sitting on one of the benches. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen someone sitting on a bench to meditate but he doesn’t blame the guy. He knows he prefers to sit somewhere with a backing instead of a floor or the ground because even after his surgery at twelve for his scoliosis, his back still bothers him without support after sitting too long. 

He debates leaving to give the guy some privacy but one he gets closer, he knows that isn’t going to happen.

The guy is absolutely beautiful. He’s fit, very fit, muscular enough that Steve is momentarily surprised that he has his legs folded up the way he does, but not so beefed up that he looks like he never leaves the gym. Both hands are resting on his legs, palm up and index fingers tucked under his thumbs with the other three extended. He’s got long hair, longer than Steve’s, it’s pulled away from his face with messy pieces hanging down and framing his cheeks. The sun is glinting off of high cheekbones in such a way that he seems to be glowing, lips cherry red and pouty even relaxed. He finds himself wishing he could see the color of his eyes. Alongside all of that beauty, he has the most peaceful look on his face.

The picture he paints is so serene, so glorious that Steve’s fingers are itching for his sketchpad and charcoal pencil even as he sits on the opposite bench.

He’ll be quiet anyway. The guy won’t even know he’s there.

He pulls his sketchpad out of his bag, takes his pencil out of his My Little Pony pencil case (Natasha got it for him as a joke, damnit) and settles in. He props one ankle on the opposite knee and rests his pad against his legs, starting to draw.

He realizes around the same time he gets a rough sketch finished that he probably looks creepy, staring at a stranger who doesn’t even know he’s there, drawing him. He doesn’t draw people as often as he’d like but he loves capturing their personalities with his own hands. Sam lets him sometimes but he won’t keep still long enough for much more than a sketch, Natasha will sit still for him usually but doesn’t always have the time, Clint flat out refuses to be watched so intently, and he’s too shy to ask strangers. 

As he shades in the shadows casted along the man’s neck by his chin, he wonders why this feels much more intimate than the sketches he does sitting in class or hanging out at the coffee shop. Maybe because the guy doesn’t know he’s there? Or- shit.

_Shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit._

Oh, yeah, he knows he’s there.

He’s peeked one eye – a beautiful stormy blue-gray – open and is watching Steve watch him, corners of his lips quirked up in probable amusement as embarrassment flushes Steve’s well. His whole body. He can feel the heat creep up to the tips of his ears.

“Oh my- I’m so sorry,” he manages before mentally kicking himself. When he was studying the guy, he hadn’t been looking and there’s no way he can see his pad from there, he probably had no idea he was drawing him or staring creepily while his eyes were closed.

The blue eye closes and yeah, that’s definitely a smile on those plump lips but it’s a lazy one – Steve thinks he might need to check out meditation – and shakes his head almost imperceptibly, “S’okay.”

“Should I leave or?” he asks quietly, not sure what the etiquette is when needing to talk to someone who’s obviously seeking quiet.

A head shake is his answer so he nods to himself, breathing a sigh of relief that maybe the guy doesn’t know he’s been staring creepily.

“You drawing me?” the slightly gravelly voice asks, though somehow it manages to sound more like a statement. Oh, guess he did know. 

“I’m sorry,” Steve says immediately, “Should I stop?”

“Nah, go ahead,” he replies, “As long as you let me see when you’re done.” 

“Of course,” Steve replies. It’s the least he can do after being a creep.

“Name’s Bucky,” the guy- Bucky offers.

“Steve,” he answers, “Pleasure to meet you.”

A beautiful smiles ghosts his lips and this time it’s two blue eyes that look at him, “Yeah, you too.”

-=-

When they move into their off campus apartment a year later, Bucky makes sure the first picture on the wall is the framed sketch that Steve drew of him on that bench.

Steve meditates with him every day now.


End file.
